The Hopelessness and Joy of Doing This

The whisperings and ways of thought

are far too fast and deep to follow;

the air's too thin up here

yet that is where I am.

I try to trace the subtle routes

but every fingerpost I pass

looks like my hand.

I lose my place

and all begins again.

Such a fool I keep returning

back to thinking's cabinet.

I make an easy place and sit

to draw upon the claustric walls

imaginary windows open to it All.